


even in a war zone (i’ll be your home)

by ftmpeter



Series: i never promised you your dream boy [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Harassment, Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Transphobia, also known as the fic where everyone would protect the shit out of peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftmpeter/pseuds/ftmpeter
Summary: "I’m a boy," Peter stammers, those three words alone making panic tear through his vocal chords."Okay, but what were you, like, born as?"I was born human,his mind supplies sarcastically, but he doesn’t say that. "I’m a boy," he repeats. He’s beginning to feel like a robot, saying the same thing over and over again until it sticks.-The five times Peter’s friends stick up for him in the face of transphobia, and the one time they don’t have to.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i never promised you your dream boy [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497749
Comments: 103
Kudos: 852





	1. MJ

**Author's Note:**

> hello
> 
> this has been sitting in my drafts for way too long, and i’m playing a reaaaaal risky game by posting it because it’s nowhere near done. like at all. i’ve never shared a chaptered fic before either, so this is entirely new territory for me. fun.
> 
> directly following the last fic in this series, i have each part for this planned out in my head, i just need to actually write it down and executive dysfunction is being a real bitch in regards to that. what i have in mind is mj, ned, may, tony, and happy (yes, he hasn’t come out to happy yet, yes, that will be incorporated) being high ranking members of the Peter Parker Defense Squad™️ and peter, in the end, learning how to call out the people being assholes. so you have that to look forward to.
> 
> i _will_ finish this. you can hold me to that ~~even if it’s by gunpoint because my god i need motivation~~
> 
> for now, enjoy a snarky mj :)

Looking back, the first time he got confronted wasn’t even that _bad_ compared to the others. 

(He can’t figure out if that’s a good thing.)

It’s study hour - a nice term to pretend that it’s not "get the sleep you’re deprived of at night" hour for half the student body - and Peter bunkers down in the school library, at his usual table by the windows. He’s fully intent on finishing an essay he’s put off for several weeks now. Seriously.

Of course, it doesn’t work out.

He becomes aware of someone staring at him as he powers on one of the provided laptops, but he doesn’t really _notice_ until he types his login information in and someone slides into the seat in front of him.

"Uh," he says, then mentally slaps himself. Man, why does he have to be so awkward?

The guy in the chair - not Ned, sadly - is one Peter thinks he might have seen before, but he can’t be certain. There’s a lot of kids at Midtown High, and he - in the nicest way possible - is basically a carbon copy of everyone else. He has intense dark eyes and wavy brown hair, and he studies Peter like he’s a mysterious, potentially dangerous specimen in science class.

"Peter, right?"

He nods slowly.

"Jason," the guy says, snapping a piece of gum in his mouth. He leans back with the confidence of someone who gets everything they want, but doesn’t even know it. "So my friend and I over there," he waves behind him, and Peter sees another boy near the nonfiction section, tapping away at his phone. "Saw you come in. And we wanna know, are you a dude?"

Peter freezes.

"Because he said you’re, like, a transgender," Jason continues on, oblivious to Peter’s internal freak-out. "but we couldn’t figure out which way. So which is it?"

A million thoughts race through his head in what feels like an eternity but probably isn’t more than a few seconds. _I didn’t prepare for this. Fuck, why didn’t I prepare for this? Wait, did he call me "a transgender"? Jesus Christ, I wanna die -_

"I’m a boy," Peter stammers, those three words alone making panic tear through his vocal chords.

"Okay, but what were you, like, born as?"

 _I was born human,_ his mind supplies sarcastically, but he doesn’t say that. "I’m a boy," he repeats. He’s beginning to feel like a robot, saying the same thing over and over again until it sticks.

Jason sighs, obviously annoyed. "You know what I mean. What’s in your pants?"

Peter shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way dysphoria wraps itself around his abdomen, tightening like a snake with its prey. His ears burn bright red, and he opens his mouth to say something, but a voice from behind gets to it first.

"Why are you so interested in his genitals, dude? That’s kind of gay, if you ask me."

MJ sounds just as bored as ever, sitting a few tables over from them, but when Peter turns to gape at her, there’s a strange movement in her fingers, like she wants nothing more than to start a fight. Her eyes dart over to him for half a second before she continues to stare at Jason, who seems equally taken aback. He regains his composure quickly, though, and snarls, "What did you just say to me?"

"What?" MJ asks innocently, cocking an eyebrow. "I’m just saying, maybe this is less about Peter and more about a sexuality thing. It’s okay, dude. We support you."

 _Holy shit,_ Peter thinks, torn between laughing and wanting the floor to swallow him whole. _Holy shit, that’s better than anything I could have come up with._

Jason apparently realizes the same thing, because after a tense moment of silence, he scoffs, getting up and moving towards the other side of the room. "Whatever. I’m not gay."

The bell rings soon after that, and Peter breathes out a sigh of relief. He stands up, digging his shoe into the ground subconsciously as he watches MJ put her stuff away.

"Thanks," he blurts out. "For, uh, you know. That."

MJ looks up at him, hair falling in front of her face. She tucks a few strands behind her ear, and says, "It was nothing. People shouldn’t ask you stupid questions."

Something about that - about calling the invasive questions what they are, about someone sticking up for him and acting like it wasn’t an inconvenience, makes Peter surprisingly emotional. He clears his throat, scratching the palm of his hand.

"Still. You made him back off. So.. thanks."

She lightly punches him in the shoulder. "I told you, it was nothing. Don’t get all sentimental on me."

Peter smiles. MJ has a weird way of showing her fondness, but he knows it’s there.


	2. Ned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was rewatching clips from homecoming to get a feel for ned's character again (and because they always makes me laugh) and honestly, may's nonchalance when she walks in on peter literally shirtless in his boxers with ned is such a mood, i need to write something surrounding that

Ned Leeds is a lot of things.

Smart, for one. Peter's well-versed in the brain of his best friend, and he knows that Ned's far ahead in almost every subject except Calculus, and that's fair because it's Calculus. He can knock out a page of homework in a matter of minutes if not distracted, and he takes notes in all of the classes that Peter naps through - the downside of being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who has a habit of staying up too late, unfortunately - so he can copy them later. They might not be the most legible, but they're better than anything he could have done.

So, smart. Intuitive. Kind. Loyal.

That last thing is what confuses Peter the most. Not because it doesn't feel real, no - it's the opposite. Growing up, very few people wanted to know him, and those who did often ended up pulling away due to his bullies threatening them, saying that weird Parker with ~~her~~ his ugly braces and thick novels and tendency to stay in ~~her~~ his own little world didn't deserve friends. He was guarded, afraid, and socially undeveloped as a result, expecting anyone that came close to him to leave as soon as they got the chance.

Ned didn't do that. Ned _hasn't_ done that. He actually chose to be Peter's friend and actually chose to stick around and actually _chose_ to stay in his life, and he has no idea what to make of it.

"Hey, there's a decathlon meeting right now," Ned says, sitting down at their lunch table as Peter slurps the grape soda he'd stashed in his bag that morning. "That's what MJ told me. Man, she's scary. Like, kill you in your sleep scary."

Peter looks over at him, amused. "I thought our whole 'scared of girls' thing was over."

"Yeah, but _you_ figured out that you're gay so you don't have to be, I'm a disaster bi which means _everyone_ is terrifying."

Peter snorts. He eventually sighs and downs the rest of his drink, throwing it away as they stand up, making their way out of the cafeteria. "Fine. What's the meeting about, anyway?"

"State, I think."

"Oh, God," Peter groans. "I'm not ready."

"You say that every time."

"Because I'm never ready, for anything, at any time, thank you."

"Well, let's be ready for this, Harrington hates when we're late - "

"Hey, wait, I gotta pee," Peter interrupts, becoming a little too aware of his bladder. He turns his head, searching for the nearest bathroom, then groans even louder when he realizes that the closest one is the one that everyone at lunch uses. Nerves hit him, and the familiar flutter of dysphoria-induced anxiety settles uncomfortably in his stomach. _You can't use that one. You're on your period, you won't be able to throw away anything without them noticing. All the stalls will probably be full and you can't use the urinal anyway because you're not really -_

Ned stops, then grins. "You drank too much soda, didn't you?"

"That's not the _point._ Just," He glances at the boy's bathroom again, where someone slams the door open as they leave. Then he remembers something, and gestures down the hallway desperately. "Let me use the family one. I - just, you know."

Ned sees the look on Peter's face - the _I am really not up to dealing with any cis people other than you right now_ look - and understands the situation pretty quickly, all things considered. "Oh. Yeah, okay. Let's go."

They hurry as fast as they can without running, and Peter almost asks Ned if he wants to go on ahead to Harrington's when he preemptively shakes his head and says, "I'll wait."

"Thanks," Peter breathes, then rushes in, flipping on the light and sitting on the toilet. He squeezes his eyes shut as he digs through his backpack in search of a pad, silently cursing whatever God made them necessary. Even if he wasn't trans, this whole process is really inconvenient. The fact that he _is_ trans, though, makes it about a thousand times worse.

(It's not enough that he has to have a chest that doesn't fit him. It's not enough that he doesn't have the "right parts." It's not enough, apparently, and he just has to bleed every month too. Whoop dee fucking do.)

Once he exchanges the old one for the new with minimal cringing and contemplating of hitting his head against the sink, Peter stands up, doing his best to shove the thoughts of _you're never going to be who you want to be_ and _everyone thinks you're a girl_ out of the way. It's too early for depression. He hasn't even gotten to noon yet.

He unlocks the door and cracks it open an inch when he catches the conversation happening just outside. He frowns, carefully peeking out.

"Leave us alone," Ned's saying through gritted teeth, to a man that he vaguely recognizes as one of the counselors he had his freshman year. Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't a little intimidated. Ned rarely gets angry, and when he does, it's a surefire way to figure out that you fucked up. "It's none of your business what bathroom Peter uses."

The counselor - Mr. Anderson? He's pretty sure it's that - bristles, affronted. "Excuse me?"  
  
"I _said,_ it's none of your business. It's a family bathroom, literally anyone can use it and you know that. You just didn't care until you found out who he was."

"Uh, what's going on?" Peter questions, finally pushing the door all the way open. He looks between the two, scratching the back of his neck. "I was just, um, I was just - "

"Who gave you permission to use this bathroom, Parker?" Mr. Anderson cuts off, staring at Peter so intently he recoils. "It's for visitors, not students."

"That's not even true!" Ned bursts out. "He's used it plenty of times before - "

"I didn't ask you," he says, glaring at Ned, who flinches but impressively manages to hold his ground. Turning back to Peter, he asks, "Why didn't you use the men's like everyone else?" He pauses, then adds, "Or the girl's, it seems."

Peter's eyes widen. It's like someone just socked him in the stomach, and he finds himself at a loss for words. He can barely croak out a "What?" before Ned jumps to his defense.

"Are you fu - are you serious?"

"Don't disrespect - "  
  
"Oh my God, don't even finish that. Peter's a _guy._ Maybe think about why he feels so uncomfortable using the men's instead of being like.. this? But I guess you'd rather be transphobi - "

"That is _out of line,_ Leeds. I'm taking you to my office. _Now._ "

Mr. Anderson grabs Ned's arm, marching him towards his office. He shoots Peter a helpless but resigned look, and mouths _Don't worry about it._

-

"What happened?" Peter whispers to Ned right after lunch, in the middle of English. He had walked into the room a minute after the bell rang, a faint blush on his cheeks, and took his usual seat beside him. "Did you - did you get in trouble?"

"Just a lecture," he answers. "And he called my mom."

Peter immediately feels guilty. "Dude, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you - "

Ned waves him off, lips twitching. "It's fine. He was misgendering you on purpose, I would do it again. And yeah, she was mad, until he said what he was calling about."

"What?"

"Let's just say that my mom gets really creative with her language when she thinks someone's being dumb."

 _Loyal,_ Peter thinks after those words sink in. Ned is loyal, and he wouldn't trade that for the world.


	3. Aunt May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i ever mentioned how much i love may parker? no? well, here's a chapter dedicated to that

"May," he groans. "I have everything I need. Seriously. You don't need to - "

"I know I don't, honey. But can you at least try them on?"

Peter runs a hand through his hair in frustration. How did he even end up here?

He knows how. This is just him being dramatic. They're here because May had taken one look at the ratty, _slightly_ ripped T-shirt he was wearing when he got home from school and insisted they go clothes shopping. So here they are, at Urban Thrift Store a few blocks away. Everything is on sale at any given moment, which is a godsend for them. They had picked up a few shirts in his size for dirt cheap and Peter was about ready to call it a day, not wanting to cost her unnecessary money, but now, May is showing him a pair of faded blue jeans that do, admittedly, look pretty cool.

"I - "

May doesn't let him finish. She puts on her best puppy eyes - God, it's no wonder Peter knows how to work them too - and says, "Please?"

He sighs, reaching forward to take the jeans from her. Glancing at the price tag, he reluctantly gives in. "Fine. I can pay you back - "

"I have literally never met a teenage boy as kind as you are," May laughs, shaking her head. "Just go and try them on. If they fit, we get them. If they don't, we don't. No big deal."

It's probably not intentional, but being referred to as a teenage boy is enough to convince Peter to do practically anything. Smiling almost imperceptibly, he looks over the aisles in search of the dressing rooms, and spots it near the entrance. He gestures, and May shakes her head, saying, "I'll be right behind you. I want to look at some of the other stuff they have."

As he approaches, Peter is aware of the way his palms grow sweaty, and he wipes them discreetly on his pants. It doesn't matter where he is or how many people there are - if he has to use the bathroom or some other gendered thing, he feels nauseous and panicky the whole time. The overwhelming fear of confrontation makes his legs turn to jelly, holds his heartbeat hostage. The fear of not matching a guy's height, their facial hair, their jawlines and broad shoulders, is terrifying, more terrifying than, say, jumping off the burning building he did last week. Not to mention their way of walking, the way that they're not even aware of for the most part. The gait that say _I'm comfortable. I'm comfortable, because I know who I am, and I know where I'm supposed to go._ Peter's never been able to imitate it, no matter how hard he tries.

When he gets to the door, he has to stop and steady his shaking hands while counting to ten over and over again. _You're fine. You've done this before. Just go in there. May is waiting for you. If you act normal, no one will even pay attention._ Before he can push it open, though, that plan fails spectacularly.

"What are you doing?"

Peter's stomach immediately drops. He turns around despite everything in him not wanting to, and finds himself face to face with a scowling woman.

She's obviously an employee, if her blue vest with the name Karen stitched onto it means anything, and she looks at Peter suspiciously, as if he's planning to steal something. Hands on her hips, she repeats, "What are you doing?"

He involuntarily takes a step backwards, bumping into the door behind him. He weakly holds up the fabric like it'll explain everything. "Um, I'm t-trying these - "

"That's the men's," Karen interrupts. Her eyes, if possible, narrow even more. "The women's is to the right, ma'am _._ "

 _Ma'am._ Peter forgets, sometimes, how acidic some words could taste in his mouth. _She thinks you're a girl. You don't pass, you don't pass, you don't -_

"I know," he stammers. His thoughts are wild, and they don't make any sense, least of all to him. _Chest. Binder. Tight. Binder - girl. Girl. Hair. Too much. Too obvious. Wrong._ "I'm - I'm not, I - I - "

"Excuse me?"

Peter's head shoots up just as May comes into view, but she's not looking at him. She's glaring at Karen, knuckles white from clutching the shopping basket. "Excuse me, what’s going on?"

Karen - really, he shouldn't have expected a different name - falters when she also catches sight of May, but she straightens regardless. Fixing her platinum dyed hair haughtily, she says, "Is this your daughter?"

If ma'am felt like a slap to the face, daughter is a punch to the gut and a kick to an already infected stab wound for good measure. Peter scratches at his bare arms, suddenly itchy all over. He wants to climb out of his body. Discard it like trash. Maybe burn it as well.

"No," May says sharply. "But _he_ is my son. And I don't appreciate you misgendering him."

_What?_

Karen wasn't ready for that either, because her eyebrows raise so high that it looks like they came straight out of a comic. Something changes in her expression, and she sniffs. "Even if she's trying to be a boy, she still needs to use the women's."

Peter can't swallow past the lump in his throat, so he crosses his arms to cover his chest and stares at anything else he can find. The floor feels uneven, but that might just be him shaking. Blood is roaring in his ears. He wants to say that he's not trying to be one, he _is._ He is real. He is.

"I'm going to give you three seconds to correct yourself, and you _really_ don't want to find out what I'll do if you don't."

May's voice is dangerously low, which is how it gets when she's past pissed off and quickly moving to furious. Like when she called Tony after learning he had helped keep Peter's superhero identity a secret. If you get that voice, praying to the deity of your choosing doesn't seem all that ridiculous anymore.

"What?" Karen splutters. Peter doesn't know whether or not he should step in or stay out of it. "Is that a threat?"

"Of course not," May says sweetly. After a second, she scoffs. "You know what? Keep your apology. Peter, come on, let's go."

Peter listens, stumbling over himself in his rush to get to her. He fumbles for the jeans at the last second and places them in their forgotten cart, hurrying after May as she walks briskly out of the store. She storms to the car, opening it with a little more force than needed. When Peter gets to the other side and sits in the seat, she's tapping away on her phone.

"Uh, what - "

"I know the person who owns this store," May answers, not looking away from her screen. "His son works with me, as a student nurse, and we're close. I don't think he'd mind doing me a favor."

The meaning of that slowly sinks in. "You - "

"Peter, I won't get her fired. Just the reprimanding of a lifetime," she says, finally looking up at him. Upon seeing his face, she softens considerably. "Listen, no one is allowed to say things like that to you and get away with it."

 _But why me?_ He almost blurts out, then thinks better of it. Instead, he mumbles, "You called me your son."

May flicks him gently on the forehead, and he smiles. "Peter, any technicalities aside, you are my son. I'm not going to let some - some _woman_ tell me otherwise."

"You were going to call her a bitch, weren't you?"

"Actually, no. It was worse. Now let's get home, I want to get dinner done before my night shift starts."

Peter nods absently. He's too focused on something else to really register what she said. _Son._

Son. He's May's son. By blood or otherwise, he's her son.

Yes, some words are acidic, bitter and sour like a lemon left out in the sun, but Peter had never realized how sweet others could be.


	4. Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter.. got away from me. a lot. i had to cut it off so it didn’t get too long. BIG cw for physical assault rooted in transphobia. if that’s a trigger, please don’t feel bad for skipping/asking for a summary. and i’m not really sure if this fits the exact standing up for peter thing i’ve been doing, but i’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while. idk, let me know
> 
> also, i’m sorry for going a while without updating. i have a lot of other ideas in the works and i’m not in the best headspace at the moment. but hopefully this will be finished soon! ~~it’s six in the morning and i haven’t slept at all send help~~

"Peter," Ned says breathlessly, rushing up to him in the hallway. He holds his phone in hand, and glances at it every few seconds. "Guess what, guess what, guess what - "

"What?" Peter laughs. "You look like you’re about to start vibrating, dude."

"I am! The new Star Wars game I ordered came in today!"

He gapes at him. "What? But I thought it wasn’t coming until next week!"

"Me too! I didn’t even get the fast shipping, because it was too expensive, but see, I just got the confirmation email thing that said it’s arrived so I called my mom and she said she brought it in!"

"No way, that is _so_ cool - "

"You guys are nerds," someone calls as they walk past, and both of them jump up from where they were huddled over Ned’s screen. MJ isn’t looking in their direction, but it’s easy to figure out it was her.

"We know!" Peter shouts back. Turning back to Ned, he says, "Dude, we gotta play it! Can I come over after school?"

"Sure, I - wait, don’t you have the - the, uh, _internship_ today?" Ned asks, purposefully emphasizing the internship part, and Peter immediately curses. He completely forgot.

"Crap, yeah. I can just text Mr. Stark and ask if I can skip, though. I don’t think he’d mind."

"Are you sure?"

Taking out his phone, Peter raises an eyebrow. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

> ptrprkr: hi mister stark could i reschedule 2day because ned just got this really cool game and i need to play it or else i’ll d i e
> 
> tony: Sure. But why do you always have to type like you don’t know English?
> 
> ptrprkr: i’m a gen z kid, we don’t
> 
> tony: Fair. I don’t understand half of what you say in real life, either.

"Uh, because it’s _Tony Stark?_ " Ned says, looking scandalized.

"You’ve got to stop acting like he’s some untouchable god, man," Peter says. "I literally saw him look for his sunglasses while they were on his head last week. And he just said it’s fine."

That does nothing to convince Ned otherwise, but before he can say anything, the warning bell rings, reminding them that they need to get to class. "I guess. But I’m getting checked out for a doctor’s appointment next hour, so I can’t give you a ride."

"Okay," Peter says, not really thinking about it. "It’s, like, a ten minute walk, so it’s fine. I’ll just meet you there."

-

Peter has got to stop jinxing himself.

Every single time he thinks _hm, maybe this has been a good day_ something, without fail, goes wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. That’s Parker luck for you.

He’s just left school and started his way down to Ned’s when the back of his neck bristles, which is weird. Nothing appears to be off - the weather is nice and not many people are around. So why is he so on edge?

There’s quick, hurried footsteps behind him, and though Peter has enough time to react, someone still gets ahold of his arm and forcibly drags him into an alleyway.

"What the - "

"Shut up."

His confusion grows even more when he sees who it is. It’s the kid from the library all those weeks ago - Jason? - and he’s scowling, with two others behind him that have their arms crossed and stances as intimidating as possible. Peter recognizes one of them as the boy who had been there that day as well, sat off to the side.

"Josh and Trent," Jason says as a means of introduction, pointing a thumb first at the library one and then at the one he doesn’t know. "We just wanted to have a chat, didn't we, guys?"

Dread is swirling in Peter’s stomach. Everything about this is bad. It’s darker than it should be because of how the buildings block the sun, and the only way out is blocked too.

"I - I’m sorry, I don’t - "

"You afraid because your little girlfriend isn’t here to back you up?" He takes a step forward, and Peter instinctively shies away. His heart pounds in his chest.

"M-MJ isn’t my girlfriend," he stammers.

"Oh, right, my bad," Jason smiles, sarcasm dripping off every word. "Forgot. She’s not a lesbian, so she wouldn’t date you."

_He’s calling you a girl._

"Why are you trying to be a guy, anyway? No guy fuckin’ wants you? Can’t blame ‘em. I wouldn’t want a freak either." Trent butts in, laughing like he just said the funniest thing in the world. It’s a high-pitched, ugly noise, echoing throughout the alley.

Peter bites down on his tongue so hard that he can taste metallic. He knows he could just force them out of the way with his super strength and make a run for it, even taking into account the fact that it’s three to one and they’re much, much more muscular than him, but he can’t. Not only because that comes with the risk of being found out as Spider-Man - but because he’s scared.

 _What if they’re right?_ Something in him whispers, sensing that fear and latching onto it. _What if you are just a freak? Trying to be something you’re not?_

"What, you’re not gonna answer my friend?" Jason taunts. He shoves Peter roughly, so he slams into the brick wall behind him. Getting in his face, he points a finger directly at his chest, saying, "That’s all you are, huh? A fucking _pussy._

"Are we surprised, though?" He continues, glancing at Josh and Trent, who shake their heads right on cue. "I mean, you do have one. So it only figures."

If nothing else, that’s what cuts Peter the deepest.

_He’s right. He’s right he’s right he’s right he’s right he’s right -_

"Just l-leave me alone," he says, voice cracking.

"‘Just leave me alone,’" Jason mocks. "Man, I don’t know how I was confused in the first place. It’s so obvious you’re a girl."

There are two possibilities, and it’s either that Peter’s binder has managed to shrink about two sizes in a matter of minutes or he’s about to pass out. Both of them are plausible, because it’s getting really damn difficult to breathe. 

"I’m not - "

Blood spurts from Peter’s nose before he can finish, and he’s barely able to stumble back when another blow, this time to his jaw, quite literally has him seeing stars. He’s not sure how it happens, but he finds himself on the ground right after that, mouth full of gravel and dirt. That’s not even the worst part, though, as two swift kicks to the ribs make him involuntarily groan and bring his arms up to shield his face.

"You’re not one of us," Jason hisses, moving to grab his hair and haul him upwards. Peter can’t even see him, because everything is spinning too fast and he thinks he might vomit. "I don’t care what you or any of your stupid friends want to think. You’re a girl. You can’t change that, you fucking - "

"Hey!" someone shouts from a few feet away, and the hand that had just been gripping Peter’s hair suddenly lets go, which is actually a bad thing as it means his head hits the pavement. Hard.

Once his eyes decide to start working again and he’s able to see a little more clearly, Peter assumes he has a concussion or something, because Happy is standing there in place of Jason. In fact, they’re all gone.

"Peter?" He’s saying, but it sounds like he’s underwater. "Come on, get up."

It takes a minute, but Peter eventually understands what’s being asked of him. He tries to lift his head.  
  
He feels arms around his sides, the pain in his ribs flaring as a result, and he’s being half-carried, half-dragged to. Suddenly, he’s on a leather seat, in a car, and everything hurts.

"I’m taking you to Tony," Happy explains, getting in the front. "I don’t know what happened, but you’re not in good shape."

Peter should probably put his seatbelt on, but that requires effort and motivation he doesn’t have. Instead, he does his best to focus.

"How did you find me? I.. I cancelled. I wasn’t coming today, you didn’t have to pick me up."

"Tony didn’t tell me that until after I got to your school,” Happy says. "And it took me a while to get out of the parking lot. I noticed something in one of the alleyways I passed."

The matter-of-fact way he’s talking gives Peter the impression that he’s more shaken than he’s letting on. "Oh. T-thanks."

"What problem did they have with you?" Happy asks, ignoring his gratitude. They hit a pothole, and Peter gnaws on his bottom lip to stop from crying out.

_He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m cis._

_I’m not._

Peter shuts his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before opening them. Making a split second decision, he says, "Do you know what being trans means?"

Happy doesn’t answer at first. He stops at a red light, seems to consider something, then answers, not looking at him, "Yes, I do."

 _Is him not looking at me bad? Oh, God, it is. He probably hates me now. He has to. Why wouldn’t he?_ As the light turns green and they start again, Peter fidgets. "Um. I’m - I’m that."

It’s very, very quiet. Peter wonders how much of a risk he’d be taking if he leaped out of a moving car.

"So I’m guessing those kids back there don’t like that fact?"

Peter frowns. "How did you - "

"I heard what that one boy said. When he had you on the ground. Before they ran for it."

 _I don’t care what you or any of your stupid friends want to think._ _You’re a girl. You can’t change that._ Peter looks up at the roof, trying to fight tears. His nose throbs, and while he hasn’t looked at himself yet, he can feel dried blood on his chin.

"And for the record, Peter," Happy says, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "I don’t care that you’re trans."

Those six words, such a bright contrast to what Jason had told him, stun Peter into silence. He still hasn’t said anything when they pull up to the tower and Happy gets out, coming over to his side and leaning in through the window. "I know it hurts, and I’ll let you lean on me, but you’re going to have to walk. Can you?"

Peter has to hold back a yelp when he tries to stand and pain crashes into him full force. Black spots dance across his vision, and he realizes, belatedly, that he’s been wearing his binder for far too long. And that whole _knocking his head into the concrete_ thing isn’t helping, to say the least.

"Yeah. But I - my ribs really hurt," he says, voice strained. "And my head, uh - "

He staggers, only saved from falling due to Happy’s fast reflexes. "I don’t, uh, I don’t feel so good."

Peter must black out momentarily from the maybe-concussion and overall stress of it all, because when he blinks, he’s in the elevator, and then being helped into the lab. Tony is hovering all around him, saying something to Happy and taking him from the man. He’s sat down on one of the lower tables, and his body hates him for it. "Pete, Happy had to leave for a meeting. Talk to me. What happened?"

"Just.. some kids from school," he mumbles. He doesn’t want to snitch. "‘s nothing."

" _N_ _othing_ doesn’t leave you like this," Tony snaps, and Peter flinches. Sensing his mistake, Tony hands him an ice pack that seems to have materialized out of thin air and says, "Stay. I have first aid somewhere."

Peter wasn’t planning on moving, so that works out just fine. He grimaces as he holds the ice to the bruise on his jaw, which, from what he can faintly see in the mirror on the opposite wall, is already an ugly shade of purple. It’ll fade, probably even be gone by tomorrow morning due to his healing factor, but that doesn’t negate the pain. Somehow, it makes it worse, as if it’s trying to make up for the lack of time it has to hurt him.

Tony is kneeling down in front of him now, smelling of motor oil and cologne. He has Peter’s right pants leg pulled up to his thigh, and is diligently cleaning the bloodied scrapes on his shins that he didn’t even know were there with rubbing alcohol and a wet washcloth. It stings, but not badly.

"You don’t have to do that," Peter says, but it’s not needed. They both know he doesn’t have to. It’s how they work, though. After every mission, after every patrol, after every time one of them is hurt in any way, they fix each other. Unless it’s life-threatening or beyond their expertise, they bandage each other’s wounds, clean the blood whether it belongs to them or not, take away as much of the pain as they can.

But no matter how much Tony tries, he can’t take away this kind.

He can’t take away the dysphoria, the self-hatred, the suicidal thoughts and days of the week where depression has everything outlined in sadness. He can work with them, sure, can be there all he wants, but he will never be able to stop it.

He can’t take Peter away from himself.

It’s ironic. With Spider-Man, despite all of his worry, Tony can protect him. He can add safety plans and protocols and functions that help him in the face of danger. He can upgrade the materials, make them stronger, tougher, to the point of being practically indestructible. But with Peter? Weird, nerdy Peter Parker, who is too anxiety-ridden to even think about retaliating against those who hurt him? He can’t protect that. Especially in a world where people would rather see him as a girl who killed herself instead of a boy who’s happy. Where people would go to extreme lengths just to get that message across.

Peter is jolted from his thoughts when Tony closes the first aid box - really, at this point, they need a first aid _chest_ \- and stands up. He places the box to the side, but doesn’t let go. For a second that’s suspended in time, it’s quiet.

"I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Okay?"

Tony’s voice is carefully controlled, but his hand is tight around the handle. Peter, swallowing hard, nods. "Okay."

"If Happy hadn’t found you,” he says, looking at Peter with a strange expression, "if he hadn’t found you, would you have even told me that this happened?"

Would he have? Peter’s first instinct is to say yes, of course, but then he really thinks about it. He’s hidden injuries from Tony in the past, not because he was afraid of getting into trouble but because he didn’t want to worry him. It’s always been a habit, pushing away negative feelings and downplaying what he goes through, because he doesn’t want to worry anyone. So he more than likely would’ve hidden this as well, stuffed it out of sight and out of mind.

His lack of response is his answer.

"Kid," Tony sighs, and he finally lets go of the first aid. He walks over to Peter, sitting next to him. "Kid, the people who did this.. have they messed with you before?"

"Not really," he says softly. "Uh, one of them had asked me a few weeks ago what.. what was in my pants? But he backed off. I didn’t think - " Peter coughs, overly aware of how sore he is. "I didn’t think he would do this."

Tony inhales sharply. "They did this because - "

"Because I’m trans, yeah."

_Because I’m a freak. That’s all I am, right? A freak._

"Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop it," Tony says. He has that same expression from earlier on his face again, but this time he puts a hand on his shoulder, gently so as not to scare him. "You didn’t deserve this. At _all_."

"I came out to Happy," Peter whispers. "On the way here. He said he didn’t care. I think that’s a good thing?"

The seriousness of the conversation is still there, and there’s going to be more uncomfortable ones soon, but Tony lets it change for now. He snorts.

"Kid, you might not know this, but he’s been around me for so long that nothing can take him by surprise anymore."

Peter can’t argue with that.


	5. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn’t originally going to write this in, but it happened, so. this is the kind of transphobia that comes from yourself. the kind that you’re conditioned to believe even when you know you shouldn’t. and that, my friends, is the trickiest of them all.
> 
> something i want to note real quick: being trans - it’s not someone’s entire identity. we exist outside of it, with our own personalities, hopes and dreams and interests and hobbies. it’s not angst 24/7, but that’s what i’m depicting because i’m struggling quite a lot at the moment. in later fics, this will get lighter, promise. trans lives, they can have happy endings. you’ll have a happy ending.
> 
> also, we don’t have the same experiences. this is one person and not at all a representation of everyone out there. i really don’t want it to come off as otherwise. 
> 
> anyways, i hope you guys have liked this so far, and thank you for commenting/leaving kudos. it means a lot <3

Above all else, above every traumatic thing he’s ever gone through, what Peter wants to forget the most is the fact that he’s transgender.

It's just that it's _exhausting._ And yeah, he did technically sign up for that when he decided to come out for the first time, but that's the problem - he wishes it wasn’t such a prominent fixture in his life. He wishes it could be more like announcing he has red shoes or brown hair or an A on his report card. Nodded at, acknowledged, then moved on from. He wishes it wasn't constantly several steps ahead of him, the first thing everyone sees when he walks into a room.

Instead, it's all of that and more. Openly deviating from what's tradition, publicly existing outside of the predetermined life, is like painting yourself a neon green and standing in a crowd of gray. It's like writing the words _hey, I'm different_ in big block letters on your forehead and going on national television. Even if you trash the markers, empty out the paint cans and break the brushes, society has their own. Society does it for you.

Peter just wishes he could be honest with the world and that be the end of it, letting it fade into the background like white noise.

But it's not the background. It's never been the background, _can't_ be the background, because it's a fundamental part of who he is and has been before he ever figured it out himself. It can't, because it's always there, a reality that's dangled in front of his face all the time, pulled away every time he tries to lunge for it and rip it into a million tiny little pieces.

It’s definitely not the background when he wakes up from a Saturday afternoon nap in the middle of a panic attack.

Peter doesn’t even know what _causes_ it, because he can rarely remember his nightmares after they’re gone, but he can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t _breathe_. There’s no noise, no crowds, but everything is still too loud, too deafening, too _much_. He stumbles to the bathroom, and barely manages to avoid hitting the floor with his face as he grips the side counters so hard his fingers cramp.

Once he gets a sense of his bearings, he slowly raises his head, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes are sunken in and he honestly looks more dead than alive, but that’s expected. His gaze drops down to his lips, chapped and faded, and then to his chin, his jawline.

Peter curses himself, knowing this is a slippery slope that he shouldn’t go down. But he can’t help the pang of dysphoria when he sees only smooth skin there, no scruff or beard or mustache. There’s a few tiny strands curling slightly, but they’re basically invisible. He doesn’t have much of an Adam’s apple, either, so when he gulps, it just makes the feeling worse.

 _You’re not a boy,_ the cruel voice in his mind says. _You really think you are? The proof is right there. It’s what everyone thinks when they look at you._

"No, it’s not," Peter mutters. "So many cis guys I know don’t even have facial hair. It’s not. It’s not."

_But they can make up for it by having flat chests and deep voices and bulges. You can’t. Because you’re a girl, aren’t you?_

It doesn’t matter that Peter knows boys don’t have to have those things to be considered one. It doesn’t matter that he knows gender is different from sex. It doesn’t matter because the exact opposite information had been ingrained into him as soon as he was born and a doctor chained him to a label he wasn’t. It doesn’t matter because the world sees everything in black and white, which meant that he had to be made colorblind.

He hears his phone begin to ring from his room, but he can’t get his hands to let go of the counter.

_You’re a girl. You can’t change that._

The phone rings again, more grating, and Peter finally goes to answer it.

It’s Tony.

"I got some of the materials we needed to work on your suit the other day," Tony says automatically, and he sounds bored, like a child left alone with nothing to do. Peter can imagine him spinning around in that chair of his, staring up at the ceiling with a phone held up to his ear. They’re far more similar than either one of them would like to admit. "I know you’re probably busy, what, with the woes of teenage life, but if you could take a break from all the parties and underage drinking and illicit drugs to come see me, that would be nice."

Peter exhales heavily through his nostrils, a substitute for the laughter he doesn’t have in him right now. He clears his throat."I don’t think I’ve ever done any of those things, Mister Stark."

"What? God, kid, where’s your rebellion? Where’s your angsty, brooding phase? It’s a real thing, you know."

 _It’s right here_ , Peter thinks. _I just won’t show it to you._

He’s silent too long. Tony notices.

"I’ll order a pizza," he muses, doing that thing Peter is almost sure he isn’t aware of, where he distracts from the problem only to address it later. "Everyone likes pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza?"

".. People who don’t?"

"Unrealistic," Tony says. "Anyways, Happy is picking you up."

Peter blinks at the non-question. "Are you asking me if I want him to?"

"No. I mean he's on his way. You might want to change."

-

To be fair, the pizza does seem pretty appealing.

When Peter shows up at the compound - remnants of the panic attack still circling around him like a determined predator - he's wearing his binder, underneath a baggy shirt that's paired with even baggier jeans and one of Uncle Ben's too large jackets. It makes him look like a pre-teen boy going through a phase, especially with how pale and skinny he is, but that's kind of the look he was going for.

_Nothing can hide who you really are._

"What's with the clothes?" Tony jokes when he wanders into the kitchen. He sits at the island. "Is that the fashion these days? Pepper's been lying to me, then."

Peter rolls his eyes. Then, soft enough that even he can barely hear it, he says, "DD." _Dysphoria day._ It's a dumb acronym he and Tony had come up with a few months ago, to help him communicate what he was feeling in less than a second.

Tony somehow still hears it, though, and confusion is replaced with understanding as it dawns on his features. He glances in the direction of the lab, then looks at him again. "Okay. Okay, yeah, that's alright. We don't have to work today."

"But - "

"It's not one of your 'intern' days, anyway," he cuts in, raising his eyebrows like he's daring Peter to argue. "Now, come here, get a slice, before I throw it at you."

He obliges.

"Movie?" Tony offers, while Peter tries to not inhale the entire box. When he doesn't reply, he shifts tactics. "Video games? Staring contest?"

Peter is the one who raises his eyebrows now. "Staring contest?"

"Don’t criticize my options if you’re not going to pick one."

He snorts, but the humor leaves him quickly and he goes quiet. 

"I’m tired," Peter says, but that’s only the half of it. He’s tired, yes, but not in the usual sense. He’s tired in the sense that fatigue has claimed residence in his bones, weighs him down, down, down. He’s tired in the sense that weariness becomes all he is, all he ever will be. Sleep can’t fix that. Nothing can fix that.

Tony studies him. "Why?"

_That’s what it always comes back to, isn’t it? Why? Why are you trans? Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why do you pretend to be a boy? You’re not. You’re not. You never will be._

"It’s like," Peter searches for the right way to explain. "I’m transphobic, but towards myself."

Tony frowns. "I’m not following."

"Just.. okay, you’re a Stark, right?"

"It’s what I’m famous for, yes."

Peter wraps his jacket tighter around himself. He’s so extremely thankful for his binder, but sometimes even that doesn’t get rid of the pain. "Yeah. You’re a Stark. But, like, imagine it didn’t say that on your birth certificate. It's some random last name, like Smith - "

"You suck at coming up with names, I hope you - "

"Mister Stark," Peter interrupts, and Tony instantly sobers. "Imagine it says Smith, and you just accept that, because, well, why would you not? And it feels weird, it feels like it doesn’t really fit, not like how Stark does, but you still accept it because you don’t know anything else. Then afterwards, you grow up and all you’ve ever been taught is that people don’t change that kind of thing. You’re taught that the few who do are bad. Weird. Unnatural. So even though you don’t like being called a Smith, and you want to be a Stark instead, you’re still raised to hate the ones who feel like that too."

The meaning behind what he’s talking about finally appears to sink in for Tony at that point, and his hand twitches like he wants to reach forward and hold Peter, but he doesn’t.

"And I just.." _Hate_ _myself, so, so much. I hate myself and I have for so long that I don’t remember a time I didn’t. What is it like, to not hate who you are? Am I the only one who doesn’t know?_ "That’s how I feel. About being trans. Even after figuring out it’s okay. I’m transphobic, but towards myself. I’m enforcing everything I’m against, but to myself, and I," Peter groans, hitting an invisible wall with his words. "I - "

"It’s okay," Tony soothes, but it doesn't make him feel better.

"It’s so _contradictory,_ though!" Peter is aware that his voice is rising, but he can't stop it, just like he can't stop the thudding of his heart or the trembling of his hands. "Like, it's so stupid, because I don't look at anyone else who's trans and think the things I think about myself! I don't think that they're mentally ill or delusional or a freak of nature and I would never say that even if I for some reason did! But then I do the same when I don't pass or catch my reflection or even just freaking exist and I hate it! I hate it because I don't _want_ to think like that, but then I do, so I end up spiraling and questioning everything again which just leads to more of.. of this. And I know it's wrong. I do! But I still believe it.

"I still believe I’m wrong," he finishes, taking a deep breath to make up for the air he ran out of. Running a hand through his hair, Peter looks up at Tony, unable to hide the pain that's threatening to overfill him. "I feel like I'm wrong."

That, at least, is true.

Somewhere down the line, Peter had been fractured, cracked, broken beyond repair. He doesn't know when it happened, if he was ever even whole in the first place, but that constant feeling of being a mistake, being a lost cause persists. It persists and it ruins him from the inside out.

Tears burn in the corner of Peter's eyes, and he wipes them away angrily. He's so sick of crying. He's so sick of showing weakness.

"Can I.. can I have a..?"

Peter is so caught up in his own self-pity that he almost doesn’t catch the _of course, kid_ that leaves Tony’s lips as he wraps his arms around his sides in a hug, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. A sob escapes from him before he can stop it, and he clamps his mouth shut. It’s in vain, though, because he still cries, cries so hard it makes him gag and choke up. There’s a pain in his stomach that hurts worse than any ache. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, tucked into Tony’s side like it will protect him from himself, but he does. His thoughts are having a battle with themselves, climbing over one another in an attempt to be the loudest. _Mister Stark just feels bad for you. You’re disgusting. You’re horrible. You’re a twisted, immoral_ pervert _-_

"Your brain is wrong," Tony says quietly. "Not you. None of what it’s saying is true."

Peter sniffles. "It feels like it is."

"The tabloids always tell me that I’m some rich, entitled douchebag. And that’s on the nicer end of things. Do you think that’s true?" Tony pauses as soon as he makes that comparison. "Wait, no. Don’t answer that."

"Shut up," Peter mumbles, no real heat behind it. "Of course that’s not true."

Tony clearly wasn’t ready for him to say that, because he takes a moment to respond. Coughing lightly, he says, "I - uh, right. Yeah. If that’s not true, then neither is what your brain’s telling you."

"That’s not how it works."

"Then change it."

Peter stills.

He’s been living under transphobic, ignorant beliefs for so long. There was a time where he _upheld_ those beliefs and didn’t think twice about it. So how is he supposed to unlearn them? How is he supposed to push past the ideas that were shoved down his throat the moment he could swallow them? It’s a road block. It’s a jail cell he can’t get out of.

"I will repeat it for as long as you need to hear it," Tony continues. Peter moves his head back, cringing at the snot on his nose, and looks up. The man is uncharacteristically serious, staring at him intently. "You. Aren’t. Wrong. Nothing about you is wrong. Whoever made you think that, they’re the one who is. You’re not a freak of nature. You’re not delusional. You’re _you._ And there isn’t a single damn thing bad about that."

The voice, the voice in his head that’s hissed at him all day, can’t think of a retort. For one blissful second, there’s no counterargument, no misgendering, no insults. And maybe that means something.

Maybe that means he has a fighting chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note: i’m trying to be more active on tumblr so if you want please hit me up at ftmpeter i’d love to be friends
> 
> and if you want a hint at what the last chapter will be about, take a look at the character tags. there’s someone on there that hasn’t been included yet :)


	6. Peter

For all of Peter's personality traits, he likes to think of himself as a pretty amicable person.

He doesn't really hold grudges. He gets annoyed, sure, annoyed and fed up like any other teenager, but that isn't the same thing. No, Peter's a bit _too_ empathetic, a bit _too_ able to envision himself in someone else's shoes. Some say it's admirable, some say it's neat, and others say it's going to be his downfall, but it's not like he actively _chooses_ to be. It just happens. He remembers all the lessons he had gotten drilled into his head in elementary by well-meaning teachers and guidance counselors and cheesy posters taped up on classroom walls. _Kill them with kindness. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Treat others the way you want to be treated._

That's not to say he doesn't have a limit, though.

A lot of things are on Peter's "do not tolerate" list. It's usually reserved for Spider-Man patrols only, because he doesn't often have the courage to confront people on a day-to-day basis unless a mask is thrown over his face, but it still exists. Animal abusers, child abusers, abusers in general. Rapists. Pedophiles. People who steal from little old ladies. Racists, homophobes, transphobes, bigots.

Bullies.

Peter knows bullies better than he knows anything else. He knows that behind most, if not all of them, are insecurities a mile wide and a desperate need to be in control of a situation. And he knows he's a prime target - he's scrawny-looking, quiet, easily walked over, and openly LGBT+ to boot. But if that stops them from going after the ones who are less privileged than him, then he'll put up with it. It's what he does.

Once those same people are involved, though, it becomes a lot, _lot_ harder to tolerate.

He's in the middle of a test when the fire alarms start blaring, startling him so much that he almost knocks his book off his desk. Luckily, no one is looking at him, because they’re all equally as surprised. Despite Mr. Taylor’s protests, everyone rushes for the door.

They’re normally supposed to go outside in an "orderly fashion" and stand around their teachers during fire drills so they can account for everyone - though this doesn’t really seem like one, because they always tell them when they’re happening the morning of - but chaos and confusion is not a good mix, and Peter ends up totally separated from his class, out near the football field. Kids are yelling to each other, saying things like _I heard someone pulled it as a prank_ and _thank fucking God, I almost had to present that dumb slideshow_ , and Peter snorts.

MJ and Ned are nowhere to be found. Ned stayed home, something about a nasty cough, and MJ.. well, MJ is only seen when she wants to be. So he leans back against a rusty fence, idly untangling his earbuds so he can listen to some music.

His eyes keep drifting towards a group of boys a few feet away from him, who are pushing each other around in jest. He tries to ignore their facial hair, their flat chests, their deep laughs, their _everything_ that will never, ever come to Peter without hormones, but trying isn’t the same as managing to, and he vaguely wonders if there’s actually a fire going on right now so he can throw himself into it.

Lost in his own head, Peter isn’t expecting it when someone rams into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, Penis," Flash starts, as mocking as ever. He takes a step back, but still gives him a fake sympathetic look. "Sorry, didn’t see you there. Guess you’re that forgettable."

It’s strange. Ever since Peter had come out all those months ago, Flash went oddly radio silent. He still cracked a joke here and there, never one to miss an opportunity, but there was less acknowledgement, less shoving in the halls, less.. well, everything. It was like he announced he had a contagious disease or something.

 _Yup, if someone’s around you for too long, they turn gay_ and _trans. That’s definitely how it works._

"Leeds isn't here? Shame. He's like your sidekick at this point, right?"

Peter's nose wrinkles, but he doesn't respond.

"Did he always know?"

He frowns. That was not the kind of question he had been anticipating. "What?"

Flash grins, like he just won some invisible contest between them. "Before you told everyone. Did he know you used to be a girl? Or did you lie to him too?"

The next gulp of air Peter was about to take suddenly disappears, and he chokes on nothing.

 _Used to be a girl._ He wasn't. He wasn't, he _wasn't_. He never _was_ one, he just thought so because everyone pushed him to believe it, and he didn't lie, did he? It wasn't lying. He wasn't lying. That's what Tony told him once. He was just afraid, and it's okay. It's okay, because he was protecting himself. It's okay, because he was only ever afraid. Isn't it?

"Aw, don't be like that. You know, _I_ identify as an attack helicopter. So it's okay, I support you."

Peter stares down at the grass, kicking it lightly with his shoe. The inside of him is on a rampage, a cacophony of feelings that won't stop, but if he's quiet for long enough, if he doesn't show any emotion for long enough, Flash goes away. It's like playing dead in front of a bear.

Ironically, he does go away, but it’s somehow worse.

"What are you looking at?"

Peter’s head snaps up and his stomach drops, all at the same time.

A boy with mousy brown hair and a hunched over frame shrinks back from Flash as if he just got burned. His backpack is swung over one shoulder, and Peter notices it before anyone else does. Clear against the black strap it's stuck to is a trans flag pin, the kind you might pick up at a pride parade or online.

"No - no one - "

"What, do you have a problem?" Flash demands, before inevitably noticing the pin as well. He scoffs. "Of course. You all flock to each other, huh? A freak meeting?"

A small, dark, shameful part of Peter tells him, _someone else will take care of it. Someone else will stop this._ _Right?_ But that part is rooted in fear and nerves and a ten year old boy who recoiled from the slightest touch and had no idea who, or what, he was. It’s not Spider-Man. In fact, it’s everything that Spider-Man is against.

"Flash, _please_ shut up."

Peter's not even aware those words have left him until the following dead silence reaches his ears. Some of the people in the surrounding crowds are staring at him. Including Flash.

He seems the most surprised, looking at Peter as if he's grown a second head. "What did you say, Penis?"

Instead of the usual meekness that twists its way into his throat and leaves him incapable of saying anything, Peter shoots a glance at the younger boy - a grade or two below him, if his too large backpack and terrified expression is anything to go by - and he feels a surge of something he very rarely does.

Anger.

Peter faces Flash directly and snaps, "You know, calling me that won't make your masculinity any less fragile."

A soft chorus of _oh's_ happen at that.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard what I said."

"Fight!" Someone yells for no apparent reason, but no one listens. They're probably all too transfixed by the sight of someone actually standing up to Flash, let alone that someone being Peter.

Flash splutters. "I - who - why - "

"I don’t think you’re a bad person," Peter continues. He can feel anxiety begin to crawl up his legs, making everything a little wobbly, but he pushes forward anyway. "I don’t even think you’re being transphobic on purpose."

"What the hell is - "

"I can take it, you know." That’s not exactly true. He had spent one too many nights wide awake, mind repeating all the casually snide remarks until they were imprinted on the back of his eyelids. "But _he_ did nothing to you. So for once in your life, _shut up._ "

Peter is regretting the words as soon as he says them, but he can’t stop. He can see the headlines now. _Midtown teen is killed after running his mouth too much. More at 11._

"Please go to your next hour class!" A woman shouts into a megaphone. "It was a false alarm! Everything is being handled! Please go to your next hour class!"

That snaps everyone out of their trance. Most listen, making their way towards the school. Flash opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it. If looks could kill, Peter would more than likely be dead by now. He storms off.

Turning to go in, he jumps when he sees the other boy is standing next to him.

"Hey," Peter says awkwardly. Everything in him is telling him to ditch, to run home, maybe find Tony or May and panic about what he just did, but it’d be a dick move if he helped someone then proceeded to ignore them. "Um, sorry about Flash. He’s.. well, he’s always like that, but. Yeah."

The boy grimaces. He breathes in shakily. "Yeah. I could tell."

They look at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Sorry, sorry, this isn’t funny," the boy says, though his giggle says differently. "My name is, um, Harley. Uh, t-thank you, by the way. I.. uh, I’m new, so.."

Peter nods. "I get it." He doesn’t really, but no one has to know that. Gesturing at the familiar blue, white, and pink pin on Harley’s backpack, he forces out, "Um, are you.. you’re.."

Harley looks down at it as well, then back up at him a little apprehensively. He must decide that he can trust Peter, however, because he smiles. "Trans? Yeah. He/him pronouns."

"Me too," he says without thinking, then immediately turns red. "I - I mean, I’m trans too. Like - you know. Yeah. I’m - uh, you know what, I’m just gonna stop talking now." If Peter had a dollar for every time he messed up a conversation with his stammering, he could move to a place far, far away where he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone ever again. Ever.

Harley doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he keeps smiling. "Cool. Guess we gotta, like, stick together, huh?"

 _Stick together._ No one’s ever told Peter that before. Ned, MJ, May, Tony, Happy. They’ve never said _let’s stick together._ They just showed it, by staying by his side and defending him when he needed to be defended and never leaving, no matter what. And showing it is just as real as saying it. It’s given him the strength that he had just a few minutes ago.

But to hear those words from someone who’s not just a bystander, not just a person clumsily attempting to understand the in’s and out’s of gender identity, but from someone who really _is_ like Peter.. it’s different. It’s different, but in a good way.

Peter smiles too.

"I guess so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: harley does not know tony in this universe!
> 
> EMOTIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTE TIME
> 
> so i know that this isn't anything compared to some of the super cool, awesome fics out there, but this is actually the first chaptered work i've started and completed. like, ever. and i've been writing fanfiction since 2014. it's also the longest! which is really cool! when i started writing for irondad, i never expected to have people look forward to and genuinely enjoy what i put out, let alone to this extent. this series specifically seems to have resonated with a lot of y'all, which i hate and love at the same time. i feel extremely vulnerable writing trans!peter in particular, because i pour so much of myself into it. so if you've found yourself in these at all, just know that you're not alone. and if you need someone to talk to, i'm always here <3
> 
> i do have more things planned!! i don't know when they'll be out because i am a depressed procrastinator but they do exist!! some are for this series. some are not. and yes that's supposed to be cryptic, i can't resist
> 
> (also! the title for this is from i got you by michael blume. it's an incredible song and you should absolutely listen to it because it really applies to peter and his friends. i heard it live and right before it came on the guy said "no matter if you're trans, or cis, or nonbinary, i got you" and i cried a little to be honest)


End file.
